A poem of colors – Grey

That which in itself speaks of bleak,
Or if it ever decided to, mystery.
Can be either a curious thing or a foreboding thing.
An air of depression and a cloud of unsought toil and trouble.
The foreword and epilogue of rain.

The flavor of fog.
The curiosity of nights dipped in snow,
and the light forgone on snow.

The shelter of or a nature of all forgotten.
The feeling of indecision.
The color that has no proper ending to its tale.


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